Morning Motions

I awake early that morning, rays of bright sunshine slanting through the blinds’ parsed divisions, pressing invadingly against my closed eyelids. I stir and yawn languidly, reaching out with a probing hand beside me, expecting to encounter your sleeping form; yet, my fingers meet nothing but empty space, grazing almost regretfully across the cool sheets.

I slowly open my eyes, squinting, adjusting my vision to the relentless assault of the sun’s glare. I turn my head, only to confirm what my hand first discovered. That the space beside me is empty, devoid of your familiar form, the only indication that you were even here, being the slight imprint of your head on the pillow, as well as the rumpled sheets where your body recently slumbered.

I lay still, listening for any telltale sounds which would give me a hint of your whereabouts, but alas, there is nothing but silence. My thoughts drift to the previous night, the intimacy that we shared, and suddenly, I yearn once again for your presence.

This desire propels me out of our warm bed, exposing me to the cool chill of the room. Nude, I quickly envelop myself with my terrycloth robe and set off to investigate. I shuffle soundlessly across the hall, when I notice the light spilling out from the bathroom. The door is partly open and immediately, I get a teasing glimpse of you.

Your bare feet peek out from the door frame, as does your head. From my vantage point, it is obvious that you are seated on the toilet, slightly hunched forward, your face, a mask of concentration, as you stare fixedly down at the tiled floor before you. I can see that your hands are clasped together in front of you, propped against your knees, your arms resting across your lap.

Just then, I wonder if I should retreat unseen, back to our bedroom, or if I should continue forward. Surely, you would not want to be intruded upon during such a private moment, but why then would you leave the door slightly ajar, almost as though extending an invitation?

As though being led by an invisible magnetic force, I continue forward until I have reached the threshold of the doorway. You still seem oblivious to my presence, as you shift slightly atop the toilet, the plastic seat creaking protestingly under your weight. You emit a subtle sigh, and clear your throat. Tentatively, I push open the door, and you look up at me. You seem startled, an awkward expression fleetingly crosses your features, but yet, you express no other signs of protest.

I take in the splendid sight of your revealed nude form atop the toilet, similar to that of a God seated on his throne. Your legs are slightly parted, yet, even from my sideways view, your dark mass of pubic hair is starkly visible, the limp cock it adorns now tucked between your legs, disappearing beyond the bowl’s rim. I had never before consciously admitted it to myself, but I then realized that watching you take a shit was always an ever-present fantasy lingering on the borders of my imagination. Yet, it always remained repressed, as proper girls weren’t supposed to entertain the thought of such distasteful, dirty matters, or so I’d always been told.

“If you need to come in here, go ahead. I don’t mind,” you announce, your voice slightly strained and breathless, from what I only assume to be an effortful attempt to get your bowels moving.

I can feel my heart accelerating with anticipation and I cautiously push open the door, as you continue to look up at me with a sheepish look on your face. I shyly enter the bathroom, noting that the distinguishable odor of fresh shit is still absent from the air, indicating that you have not yet been here long, or perhaps you were having slightly more trouble than anticipated.

“Sorry, I didn’t know where you were and…,” I stammer, forcing myself to not look at you, as tempting as it is.

“It’s okay. I think we slept in a bit; if getting ready on time means the both of us being in here, then so be it,” you say with a laugh, trying to break the awkward circumstances.

“Besides, don’t mind me. I’m just taking my morning shit. It’s not like there’s anything you’ve never seen before,” you continue to justify.

“Well, I HAVE seen you naked before, but I can’t say I’ve ever seen you taking a shit,” I retort.

“True. But still, everyone shits, including you. And at this point, I don’t think we need to be shy around each other anymore, don’t you think?”

Feeling relieved at your words I also have to laugh, given the situation we are presently in. Here we are, carrying on a conversation just as casually as if we’d been seated at the kitchen table, exchanging pleasantries over breakfast and the morning newspaper.

“Well, if you don’t mind, I think I’ll continue on with what I was doing,” you announce, shifting on the toilet once again, turning forward.

I casually make my way towards the counter and attempt to make myself look preoccupied, absentmindedly running a brush through my hair, fumbling in my cosmetics bag for nothing in particular. I look down at you, afraid to be discovered, but you seem too absorbed in your task to even take notice. Your head is bowed, and my ears pick up on all the sounds you emit; every inhalation and exhalation released through your nose, all of the muffled grunts, groans and soft sighs. Your body seems to tense with each labored push, and I encourage you wordlessly.

You release the occasional flatulent bursts which echo against the porcelain confines of the toilet bowl. Because you are leaning forward, there is a slight gap between your body and the back of the seat. I can easily see the beginning juncture of your ass’s deep crevice. And if I allowed myself to lean in a bit more, I could probably get a glimpse of your turds as they emerged, lengthened, and gathered in the depths beneath; but I decide to remain immobile.

Soon I hear the distinctive, familiar crackling sound which announces the beginning of an arduous evacuation, but I do not dare move in for a closer look, and I resign myself to simply imagine the contents coming forth.

As the slow crackling continues, I begin envisioning every detail of this first, wondrous specimen. I estimate it to be just now emerging from your puckered, dilated anus, the tip protruding outwards like a turtle’s head. It is most probably hard and knobbly, consisting of a tight cluster of compacted fragments. You pause to catch your breath before bearing down once more. As the moist popping sounds continue to emit forth, I begin guessing at the turd’s approximate length thus far, predicting it to be about 4 inches long. I would imagine the turd is now smoother and perhaps lighter in its shade of brown, as it continues to crackle, seemingly endlessly, and I estimate the turd is now beginning to slowly taper off. At last, the crackling ceases, indicating that it is probably hanging suspended from you, just before your anus pulsates outward and clenches, pinching it off, as it lands in the toilet with a hollow splash and finally settles with a bubbly fizz.

You lean back to rest against the toilet tank and look up at me, red-faced from your exertions, and I wonder if you were even still aware of my presence during all this time.

“Whew, that was a big one!” you exclaim breathlessly.

“Yeah, it sure sounded like it,” I reply nonchalantly, still trying to look busy with my cosmetics bag, when all the while, all of my senses stood at attention, unable to ignore what I had just witnessed.

“So, did you enjoy the show?” You ask me with a teasing grin, and I realize then that I’ve been caught in my furtive admiration.

“Not really. It stinks pretty bad in here, actually,” I say with a tone of forced disgust.

To be honest, I had to admit the odor wasn’t all that unpleasant, and I didn’t mind it in the least.

“I survived this far, I might as well stay,” I say jokingly, and you just nod your head and laugh before plowing forth with another push.

This time, your efforts are more quickly rewarded, as it doesn’t take more than a couple of minutes before another wave of crackling announces itself accompanied by the synchronized hiss of a fart, not unlike the sound of air slowly being released from a balloon. I notice that it is more precipitated, which means the passing of this turd is progressing with much more ease than the previous one. The explosive burst of a fart erupts before two deep splashes follow each other in succession, indicating that one single turd has probably split into two separate sections. You rock slightly, as you attempt to dislodge a small, clinging piece, making it land with a plop.

Amazingly enough, more crackling ensues, and a couple more turds are released, at this point, landing with nothing more than a faint thud, as they join the remarkably accumulating quantity beneath you.

At last, you have emptied your reserve and you release a loud, conclusive grunt. I approach you, looming over you, getting a teasing glimpse of just one of your many glistening turds lying in the obscured depths below. You unravel some tissue from the dispenser beside you, tilting sideways to clean yourself, allowing me an unobstructed view of your creation below. The formation is truly remarkable, a tangle of varying coils consisting of six well-proportioned lengths. I never imagined someone capable of shitting this much, it easily put my own unloading sessions to shame.

I then move to stand in front of you, and I notice that your cock is now erect. I grin and begin to wonder at its state of arousal. Perhaps your erection was simply caused by the pressure of your massive turds as they were forced out of you and pressed against your sensitive prostate. Yet, I choose to believe that you are turned on at having me here, watching you perform this very intimate, natural act.

By the time all the lingering traces of your shit are wiped from between your toned, muscular ass cheeks, you have completely covered your excretions with the soiled paper, while the turds themselves have begun to dissolve, tinting the water with a murky shade. You raise yourself from the toilet and press down on the flush handle, and we both watch as the expelled remains of last night’s dinner spiral and disappear out of sight.

“Here, I think we need to further clean that sexy ass of yours,” I tell you seductively, my hands cupping both your ass cheeks, squeezing them firmly. I shed my robe and lead you towards the shower, as we finally proceed with getting ready for our much delayed day…